


And Goodnight to the British Government Whispering Hush

by LoveandScience



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Baby, Bullying, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Mycroft as a dad, Mycroft with a baby, Parenthood, Sherlock is grossed out, Slow Build, babies being babies, babies spitting up, bad childhood memories, infant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveandScience/pseuds/LoveandScience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I just really wanted Mycroft being a dad. A baby in a black sling as he strides the halls of the Houses of Parliament like he owns the place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Suppressing a yawn as he made his way up the cement path to the front door, Mycroft's powers of observation nearly failed as he just missed tripping over a basket on the front step. With a gasp, he jolted into alertness, leaping backwards nearly a meter. Sherlock would have found the sight dreadfully amusing, Mycroft thought bitterly. He whipped out his phone and hurried out past the front gate, wanting to be as far away as possible should it explode or release some sort of biological weapon.

“Why did your sweep fail to find the basket blocking the path to the entrance?” he asked sharply into the mobile. 

“Sir? We'll be right there.” 

A chagrined security guard in protective gear showed up moments later, meeting him on the edge of the sidewalk. 

“You should leave, Sir. Just in case.” 

Mycroft nodded, getting back into the black car still idling at the kerb. “Deal with this, Alek. You know how inconvenienced the country would be if I were to suddenly die.” 

As Alek's unamused frown faded into the distance, the politician tried to think which of his enemies could have placed such an obvious attack on his own property. His address wasn't given freely, so perhaps his internal personnel were not secure? Could it be Moriarty? 

His speculations cut off abruptly when his cellphone buzzed. 

“Yes?” 

Alek started to say something, but a wailing interrupted him. “Shhhh, shhh,” the muted voice of the guard said. “Uh, Mr. Holmes, Sir, it seems somebody left you a child.” 

Mycroft remained frozen until the car pulled up to his driveway, at which point he forced his body to move, stiffly pocketing the mobile and making his way back to his front door. 

“Sir, Anthea's sending a vehicle equipped with a carseat so we can transport the infant to the hospital. I'm going inside to secure the interior of the house, if you wouldn't mind taking her for a moment.” 

“Her?” was all the elder Holmes could ask before the infant was pushed into his arms. Crossing the path again to return to the sidewalk, he smiled. “You're going to be okay, shh,” he soothed when the child whimpered. Thankful for the darkness and lack of people, he sat down on the kerb to gaze fondly at her. 

When Sherlock had been this small, Mycroft had taken one look at him and felt a deep sense of responsibility that had never faded, much to the younger Holmes' annoyance. His heartstrings had been knotted and chewed on and at one point, Sherlock had nearly poisoned them, but they were still wrapped around his little brother's finger. He'd only gotten better at pretending they weren't. 

His thoughts dropped off as a third black car pulled up, and Mycroft stood. 

“She's beautiful,” Anthea said, fondly, strapping her into the carseat. “We'll make sure she's well taken care of.” 

“I know you will, because I'm coming with you.” 

His PA raised an eyebrow. “May I remind you of your 6:30 meeting tomorrow morning?” 

Mycroft did not roll his eyes, but it was an effort. “I am well aware of my schedule, Anthea.” 

She gave him a knowing smile and settled in to focus on her phone for the duration of the drive. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

After the doctor gave the baby a clean bill of health, she turned to Mycroft with a stack of papers. 

“You'll have to sign these,” she said, handing them to him with a pen. “And we'll make sure she goes somewhere safe and happy.” 

The red-haired man shuffled through, skimming the documents. 

“No,” he said, finally. 

Anthea and the doctor both looked at him as if his head had detatched. 

Mycroft set the papers on the chair to his right. “We don't yet know the circumstances under which she was placed at my doorstep. Perhaps it was by chance, but I suspect not. Besides, I'm well off enough to care for a child. Give me the adoption forms.” 

“Sir, you travel and work at odd hours of the day. What do you expect to do with an infant when you're meeting with the Prime Minister?” 

“It's called a sling and a diaper bag, and I do have the ability to pace if she turns fussy.” At his PA's raised eyebrow, he spoke before she could say what he knew was on her mind. “I've been building my reputation for years, Anthea. Anyone I meet with won't question me. Besides, perhaps by gauging their expressions, I'll find who left her.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Waking every couple hours for feedings meant extra coffee in the morning, and so a wired Mycroft walked purposefully into the Palace of Westminister, long strides carrying him swiftly across the elegant flooring. 

“Naaaaa. Naaaaaaa. Naaaaaaa,” the child cried. 

“Shhhh, Cordelia. The guard was simply doing his job. You can go back to sleep, now,” the politician crooned, summoning his diplomatic skills to keep his voice soothing and calm. She cried a bit longer, but, nestled in the black sling, the walk to the Prime Minister's office rocked her back to sleep. 

If the long-term respect for Mycroft didn't keep those he met with for the rest of the day from questioning the baby's presence, the stern expression did.


	2. Chapter 2

Slogging up the stairs to 221B, Mycroft felt bedraggled. Another night of poor sleep-- really, how long before the baby slept through the night?-- had left him drained, and it was all he could do to keep up the act of the put-together, important government official.

“What?” Sherlock yelled when he heard the sharp rapping against the door. 

“Open up, Sherlock,” the elder Holmes commanded, in no mood for games. 

Following the sound of glass breaking and a string of curses, which he covered the infant's ears for, the door opened to reveal a bed-headed consulting detective with an irritated glare. Sherlock's eyes instantly flicked to the sling. “What is _that_?” 

“ _She_ is your niece, Sherlock.” His younger brother froze, brain struggling to wrap around the idea. 

“You're an uncle. Her name is Cordelia. Now that's overwith, I'll just be on my way.” 

“Wait!” the younger man called when Mycroft was at the bottom of the staircase. Sherlock ran down the steps when the other man paused. “She can't be yours,” he said as he looked the baby over. 

The redhead gave him a tired, exasperated look. “Not biologically, obviously, but she was placed on my doorstep and I did sign the adoption papers.” 

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted as his brain began whirring at full speed again. “So you believe she was placed there for a reason, then? An interesting case. I'll take it.” 

“No, you'll leave it to my people. You've still got Moriarty to deal with,” Mycroft reminded him. 

There were days, long in the past, when Sherlock's pouts used to work on him. “And if they're connected?” his brother asked. 

“Then you'll let me know. Do take care not to cut yourself on all the glass you broke attempting to answer the door.” 

The scowling younger Holmes retreated to his flat. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Oi! Mycroft!” 

Mycroft turned around, halted from entering the idling black car. “Oh, hello, Detective Inspector.” 

Lestrade grinned. “What's that?” he asked as he walked up, and then peered into the sling. “Wow, Sherlock didn't tell me you had a baby! Congratulations, very belatedly.” 

The politician gave a polite smile. “Not too belatedly, actually. I adopted her five days ago and just introduced her to Sherlock, much to her unfortunate luck.” 

The DI laughed. “Well, I wouldn't let him babysit, that's for sure. She's beautiful, Mycroft. Are you and your wife? Partner? Uh,” he rubbed the back of his head, abashed at how little he knew of the other man. “Uh, are you two happy?” 

The elder Holmes carefully kept his face neutral. “There's no one else.” 

Greg looked down, a little red tinging his cheeks at the faux pas. He met the other man's gaze again. “Blimey, I can't imagine raising a baby on my own, especially with your work schedule. No wonder you look like hell.” At Mycroft's raised eyebrow and pointed stare as he covered his daughter's ears, Lestrade quickly added, “I mean, you just look exhausted is all. Surely you've got a nanny to help or something?” 

Cordelia started crying at the lack of movement, and Mycroft gave a shake of his head before swaying side to side in place. “My security team focuses on just that, not childcare, and I've never had cause to vet the population of nannies in London. It'll be a while before someone skilled enough and with security clearance, who also has the severely underrated ability for discretion, is found and processed.” 

Lestrade gave him a look of concern. “Give me your address and the time you'll be home next. I'll come over and make sure you get a few hours of sleep, because trust me, you need it. It was hard enough with the two of us, my ex and me. But we did it three times, and I wasn't so immersed in work back then, so I was there a lot. Is that enough skill for you? And you trust me enough to look after Sherlock, so...” 

Surprised, Mycroft tried to run through what possible ulterior motives the DI could have for offering this. “Thank you, Detective Inspector. We'll be in touch,” he said noncommittally, waving as he took Cordelia from the sling and opened the car door. 

Strapping her into the carseat, he realized his getaway would not be so simple. A reeking smell emanated from the diaper. Tiredly, he laid out the changing mat on the seat next to hers and set a clean diaper and wipes out where they'd be easy to grab. As he removed her from the safety seat, she cried again. 

Over the noise, Greg's face peered over the open cardoor Mycroft was kneeled next to. “Please, take me up on it. I really mean it. You're gonna burn out and we can't have the British Government crashing, can we?” 

“I am not incompetent,” the politician said sharply, hands flying as he changed the diaper, hoping to get out of here as soon as possible. 

Lestrade looked stricken. “I didn't mean it like that,” he mumbled. 

Guiltily, Mycroft met his eyes. “I know. Apparently, I really could do with rest, if your kind offer still stands. I'm off for the next two nights after six.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Pacing the restaurant, Mycroft managed to sneak a bite in every time he passed his table. At least he was getting an actual meal, this time. About half the time since Cordelia had come into his life, he'd just grabbed a protein drink and been done with it. Combined with the constant walking this child seemed to require, because she screamed whenever he stood still for longer than twenty seconds, he'd never have to exercise again. 

A few women gave him sympathetic looks, and-- oh _no_ , another old person was coming up to him. 

“What a lovely little baby,” the old man said. “Treasure every moment,” he advised solemnly, as if he were imparting ancient wisdom, “it goes by so fast.” 

Mycroft gave a smile and a vague “of course,” hoping he could sneak in another few forkfuls before he had to dash off to meet with the American Ambassador. 

“You'll sure miss this when they start crawling and getting a mind of their own,” a woman seated a few feet away chimed in. 

Trying desperately to keep that last strand of sanity from snapping, the politician said nothing. 

Unaware, the lady continued on, “It's all downhill from there. They'll start talking back and disobeying. You'll have no control.” 

That was it. “Actually,” he said, his voice venomous, “I'll be quite glad when she can disobey and talk back. It'll mean she's not a mindless drone without an original thought rattling around her brain. She'll become a more developed, unique person with her own sets of values, and hopefully surpass me and teach me a few things. I've always thought that's what every parent should want for their child, but I've heard that sentiment so many times I find myself an anomaly.” 

Stalking over to the nearest waiter, he asked for his check and a box, “as promptly as possible, please,” and resumed pacing, pointedly not making eye contact with anybody.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg knocked on the door shortly after Mycroft had gotten home. The redhead shifted the infant to be supported by one arm while he opened the door, then held her with both again.

“I appreciate this,” the politician said gratefully, letting the DI in. 

Lestrade smiled, staring happily at the baby. “It's no problem at all. Kelly had a few friends who did this for us, and it was honestly a lifesaver. I promised myself I'd do the same for anyone else. Newborns are a lot of work.” 

Mycroft handed her off gently to Greg. “Meet the Detective Inspector, Cordelia.” He almost burst into song with relief as his shoulders and back immediately began to enjoy their reprieve. 

“Please, I'm pretty sure we're on a first-name basis.” Greg looked at the little girl. “Hi there, Cordelia. You're father's been taking such good care of you, but he needs a break,” he cooed, fatherly instinct instantly returning. 

“There's a cosleeper attached to my bed where you can put her down if she goes to sleep,” he gestured for Lestrade to follow and led him down to the end of the front hall into the master bedroom. “If she needs me or whenever you need to go, don't hesitate to wake me.” 

Greg made a noise of affirmation. 

Mycroft shut off the light in there and took the DI to the room next door. “All of her things are in here.” He went around, pointing out the changing table and supplies, the diaper pail, an overstuffed toy chest, blankets and swaddle cloths, baby clothes, and burp cloths. He then led Lestrade to the kitchen, showing him where Cordelia's bottles and formula were located. “And, being as you are acting as a friend, please,” Mycroft smiled, “make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything to eat or drink.” 

Nodding, Greg swayed side to side, averting the whine the baby had been about to voice. “Go take care of yourself. We'll be fine,” he assured, sensing the other man's hesitancy. 

Mycroft gave Cordelia an affectionate stroke on the hand. “Thank you, Gregory.” 

The DI watched the redhead recede back down the hall. Something about the softness with which his name had been said made him feel a gentle warmth, and he gave Cordelia a small smile. “Let's go have some fun with your toys while Daddy sleeps.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Lestrade laid Cordelia down on a large blanket in the middle of her room and started fishing through her toys. He set a wide selection beside her and sat crosslegged as she squirmed happily. 

“Look at this! Daddy was so smart, he got you a panda bear! Black and white's probably all you can see very clearly, although your Daddy didn't tell me your exact age.” He slowly swooped the stuffed animal around before landing it on her tummy. 

Cordelia stared, looking at the panda thoughtfully as her body stilled. 

The DI smiled. “Are you thinking about it? Isn't he soft and fluffy?” 

After a few minutes, her eyes drifted to the side as she became bored and wiggled around again. 

“Here, let's try this,” he carefully flipped her on to her abdomen. “This is tummy time, do you do this with your Daddy? I bet you do.” 

She strained to raise her head, entertained by the challenge. Just then, a bubbling sound came from her bottom, and Greg watched, laughing because he remembered this so well with his own kids, as the diaper overflowed all up her back. 

“Well, apparently it's time for a change!” he said, getting up to double-check that everything he needed was already on the changing table. He swiped a clean outfit from her dresser and put it next to the wipes. “Good to see everything's working okay in there,” he told her fondly, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he lifted her. “And after this, we're going on a hunt for the laundry room!” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Mycroft awoke close to midnight, feeling close to normal again after having had a long shower and more than 2 consecutive hours of sleep. When he checked the time, he furrowed his brow. Hadn't he asked Gregory to wake him before leaving? Cordelia was snoozing in her cosleeper, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest at least assuaged any concerns about her well-being. 

He padded his way to the living room, a faint light coming from the lamp on the end table. 

“Hey,” Gregory looked up from the book he'd been reading, “how'd you sleep?” 

Still surprised the other man hadn't left, considering the late hour, Mycroft stood there awkwardly for a moment before realizing Lestrade had asked a direct question. “I slept well,” he answered. “Did you have any trouble with Cordelia?” 

“None at all. She went down about an hour ago, so you might want to eat while you have the chance. I threw together a sandwich for myself.” 

Mycroft nodded at the suggestion and left for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with his dinner. He took the armchair across from Lestrade's position on the sofa. “Did you find a book to your liking?” 

“Oh, her name made me think of _King Lear_ , and I figured s'where you got the name. Found the book on your shelves pretty easily and thought I'd reread it.” 

The politician smiled. “You're the first to mention the reference; I'm impressed.” 

Greg rolled his eyes. “And here I was hoping you'd be impressed by my babysitting, but all I had to do was mention Shakespeare. What a lot of effort for nothing.” 

Mycroft let out a huff of laughter. “Not for nothing. You don't know how much I appreciate this, but I will compensate you.” 

Lestrade shook his head. “None of that. Think of it as my civic duty. Can't let someone with your kind of power get overtired and cause an international crisis, now can we?” 

The politician put a hand over his eyes in mock-mortification. “You heard about that?” 

Greg laughed. “I hope for all our sakes that's a joke. Honestly, though, it wasn't bad. She's a sweet girl.” Setting the book on the coffee table, he stood up, stretching. “Same time next week?” 

Mycroft got up, too, leaving his plate next to the book. “You really don't mind? Are you sure there's nothing I can give you?” 

“I don't and I'm sure.” 

They walked to the door, Mycroft trying to think of some way to express his gratitude. “If there's ever anything you need, please let me know.” 

The DI smiled and shook his head as he stepped into the chilly night air. “Goodnight, Mycroft. Try to get some more sleep if you can, and make sure you eat.” 

“Goodnight, Gregory,” he said to the other man's retreating form, fearing that he was going to feel in debt for quite some time to come.


	4. Chapter 4

Curious as to who it could be, Mycroft looked through the eyehole of the door before answering it.

“Hello, Mycroft,” John greeted jovially. “Greg told us about your new arrival.” 

Mary smiled. “We've brought her a small gift. Just a token, I'm sure you already have everything big,” she held up the bag. 

He ushered them inside. “Please, have a seat.” A cry sounded from the other room, and the redhead raced down the hall. He returned with the infant in his arms. “One more moment, please. I just need to grab her bottle.” 

When he'd done so, he took a seat. 

“Greg mentioned this morning that he'd come by last night. He wasn't surprised Sherlock hadn't mentioned her, thought maybe he'd deleted it. But we wanted to meet her and see how you're doing.” 

“Thank you, John. Mary. By the way, you're glowing at 8 months.” 

Mary beamed. “Thank you.” 

Cordelia stopped sucking and made a little noise. 

“Can I hold her?” the blonde asked. 

Standing, Mycroft crossed the few meters to the couch and gently placed the infant in her arms. 

“She's so sweet. Yes, you are,” Mary said softly. 

Taking advantage of his free hands, the politician took the gift bag from the table and pulled the tissue paper off the top. 

Mrs. Watson looked up. “My friend said gripe water was a lifesaver with her children. I don't know if Cordelia ever cries for no reason and just can't be comforted--” 

“Yes!” Mycroft exclaimed earnestly in the middle of her sentence, thrilled that this wasn't abnormal and he hadn't been failing as a parent when he couldn't soothe her. 

“--well, it helps calm their tummies. Sometimes it does the trick. And there's also some cream for in case she gets a diaper rash.” 

The elder Holmes looked at her with the utmost appreciation. “This is perfect. Thank you.” 

“By the way,” John chimed in, “how old is she?” 

Mycroft took Cordelia into his arms when she started to cry, moving toward the open part of the room and starting to pace with her. “Of course, we don't have an exact date of birth, but estimates put her at about 3-4 weeks.” 

John patted Mary's hand and stood. “Right. Well, I've also heard you haven't had much time for real food, so I'm going to fix up some dinner,” he said, leaving no room for argument. Not that Mycroft would object to anything that wasn't a protein-shake. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Thanks for sending John and Mary,” he said when Lestrade answered the call. “Honestly, I didn't imagine Sherlock's friends would care.” 

The DI closed his office door, leaving The Yard to head home. “Come on, now, I'd like to think I'm more than just Sherlock's friend. You and I get on just fine. And it's not unnoticed by John what you do for Sherlock; of course he cares.” 

Lying across the couch, Mycroft closed his eyes, hoping his body could rest until Cordelia woke up again. “I suppose,” he conceded, “but I'm not sure I'd be much of a friend. No experience in that department.” 

“Well, you'll have a learning curve, just like Sherlock.” 

“Ugh. Don't condescend or compare me to my little brother,” he complained. “But I suppose after everything, you've fallen into the unfortunate role of my friend.” 

Greg's smile was nearly audible through the phone. “Now that's settled, tell me how you're doing. Cordelia keeping you on your toes?” 

“We're traveling out of the country in the morning. Unfortunately it could not be avoided, although I wanted to wait until she'd had her first shots.” 

“Sounds rough,” the DI commiserated. 

Mycroft shifted on to his side. “I'm not worried about the hassles that come with flying, but I do hope to minimize the amount of trips so as to keep her exposure to x-ray and UV radiation to a minimum. Pilots have 25 times the average rate of cancer.” 

“God, you really do sound like a parent,” Lestrade teased. 

“Am I supposed to find that insulting?” 

Greg slid into the cab he'd hailed. “I've got three of my own, so I don't think so.” 

The redhead smiled, about to reply, when he heard his daughter crying. “Cordelia's woken up. I'll see you next week, Gregory. Please take care.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The flight wasn't difficult, Cordelia not old enough to particularly care about her surroundings beyond getting her needs met. The room of delegates he addressed, however, gave him a headache. 

“No,” he explained, the weariness not reaching his voice, “that would upset the situation in the U.S.” 

Anthea, sensing her cue, began passing out the documents in her hands. 

“I've drawn up a plan that will serve all our interests,” he stood when Cordelia began to shift, knowing that he had a few seconds to get moving now that she'd woken up. He grabbed the bottle with one hand and a dry-erase marker in the other, and strode to the whiteboard as he slipped the bottle into the infant's mouth. 

“We originally thought the Evans web to be filling the vacuum left by Moriarty. My brother is attempting to discern if the broadcast was a hoax or if Moriarty truly has returned.” Mycroft jotted a list of countries. “You've been handed a detailed summary of operations for your respective teams to carry out.” 

The Russian representative looked up from the files. “You've given me a list of people to interrogate, but some of these people are very important. I can't just threaten them.” 

Mycroft fixed him with a cool stare. “I believe I wrote 'investigate', not 'interrogate'. You don't have to speak to them directly, but chatter has identified that they are in some way implicated in this new web. Look through their files. Follow them. Use your brain, or I'll send SIS to hold your hand.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Four hours later, Mycroft was relieved to be on a flight back to England. Lulled by the engines, he joined Cordelia in slumber, head against the window and arm around her carseat.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hi,” Greg sauntered in happily, taking the baby from Mycroft's arms. “How're you two this week?”

Finding the casual atmosphere Lestrade brought with him unusual but nice, the politician felt himself relax. “We're starting to get used to each other,” he gave Cordelia a small smile before meeting the DI's searching gaze. “No particularly horrible murders lately?” 

“Thankfully, no. Start of the new year, though, so maybe they're sticking to their resolutions. Sherlock's not happy about it, though.” 

“I imagine he wouldn't be.” 

Lestrade gave him a dismissive wave that Mycroft was fairly certain meant to mock him. “Well, go on, get some sleep and whatever else you need,” he smirked, “unless you're planning to stand here talking to me for the next six hours.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Cordelia in a quiet alert state, the DI took her out into the backyard. A high privacy fence surrounded it, but it was large enough for two huge trees. Greg stepped off the deck, heading over to one of them. 

“Do you see the big tree?” he turned so her face pointed toward it. They wandered around to the different plants for a good half-an-hour before she began opening and closing her mouth repeatedly. “Looks like you're starting to get hungry, Cordelia. Let's go warm up a bottle.” 

They made their way into the kitchen, where he set her down in the conveniently-placed pack 'n play so he could keep an eye on her while preparing her formula. He got the bottle into a pot of water and set it on the stove. 

“Alright, let me hold you while that heats up.” He cradled her, nostalgia hitting him as he remembered when his children were this small. “You're gonna grow up with quite a family, Cordelia. I can't even imagine having Sherlock for an uncle. But he's actually got a soft spot for kids, and he'll probably teach you all sorts of fun things you're not supposed to know about. Your daddy's basically got run of the country, and he pretends to be mean to people that don't know any better. But you'll know, because your his daughter. And you'll probably have him wrapped around your little finger, because he loves you. Then you got some old Detective Inspector who'll probably be popping in every so often, and who knows how he'll influence you. Maybe you'll get some normalcy from John and Mary. I guess you'll get to grow up with their daughter.” 

A tired Mycroft leaned unnoticed against the wall of the kitchen doorway, unable to suppress the creeping smile. When Greg set Cordelia down again to retrieve the bottle and rinse it in cold water to cool the plastic, the politician silently made his way back to the master bedroom. The foreign warmth he felt at what Greg had said led him into peaceful dreams, too tired to analyze and overthink it all. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Sleep okay?” Greg asked when Mycroft crossed into the living room at half-past midnight. 

“I did, thank you.” He sat in the armchair across from him, mirroring their position from the last time. There was a hurried silence as Lestrade finished the paragraph he was on and Mycroft thought of what to say. “I hope I'm not taking advantage of you,” he said after the DI had marked his place. 

Greg smiled and shook his head. “You don't get it, do you? We're friends. I want to help.” 

The redhead's eyes searched for anything under the innocent, kind expression, but found nothing. “But what can I do for you? Something that's not just smoothing things over with your superiors after Sherlock's torn his way through regulations while solving a case.” 

“Nothing. There's nothing you can do for me.” 

The elder Holmes wasn't often at a loss for words, but he couldn't really find a response to that. “If there ever is--” 

Lestrade got up to put a hand on Mycroft's shoulder. “If there ever is, I'm sure you'd help. But I'm not doing this so that you'll owe me one. I just want you and Cordelia to be happy and you can't do that on too-little sleep. And no,” he continued before the politician could ask, “you being happy doesn't have to benefit me directly. It's that simple.” 

“It seems all I can say to you anymore is 'thank you'.” 

Greg rolled his eyes. “You can stop with that.” 

A cry came from the bedroom, and Mycroft made a move to go to his daughter. 

“I've got it. You go eat and then I'll be off.” 

“Thank you.” 

He motioned for Mycroft to zip his mouth while making the corresponding noise, walking from the room with a grin that the redhead couldn't help but return.


	6. Chapter 6

“I want to hold her.”

Years of practice allowed Mycroft to not even flinch at the sudden voice behind him. He finished changing Cordelia's diaper and picked her up before turning to face the other man. “How many times have I asked you to knock, Sherlock?” 

“Counting our childhood, two-thousand two-hundred and nineteen times,” the consulting detective held out his arms. “Give her to me.” 

With a smirk, Mycroft placed her gently into his brother's arms. “Yes, well, you always were a little slow on the uptake. Support her head, Sherlock,” he adjusted their positions to his satisfaction. 

The redhead watched as the younger Holmes held her quietly for a few moments. “Hello, Cordelia. John said I should introduce myself, although I hardly see why when you can't understand a word I'm saying.” The infant snorted and squirmed a little. “Yes, I can see you take after your father. If he bores you as much as he does me, I'll bring you along with me to a crime scene.” 

“Sherlock!” Mycroft glared, moving to take her back. 

The younger man held her a little more tightly. “She's going to need someone in her life who isn't obsessed with keeping her in line and ordinary.” 

“You're not taking my daughter to the scene of a murder.” 

“I am if she wants to.” 

The politician huffed in exasperation. “Why are you even here? Just because John sent you?” 

Sherlock stared at the tiny human being in his arms. 

Figuring he wasn't going to get an answer, Mycroft decided to use the opportunity to pick up the room, tossing clothes and blankets into the hamper and toys into the chest. 

“Because I care for her,” the consulting detective said finally. 

The redhead paused, bent over a toy. “That makes me happy.” 

“Ah, well, you did say caring was a disadvantage. But it is what it is.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Mycroft?” Greg asked, confused and a little worried when the politician's name flashed on his phone at twelve in the afternoon. 

“Hello, Gregory,” the smooth voice drifted over the speaker. “I happen to be in the area and wonder if you'd care to join me for lunch. 

The DI relaxed. “Sure,” he said happily, “I've been running on coffee for the last ten hours, I could use a bite.” 

“I'm just outside.” 

After assuring Mycroft he'd be right down, Lestrade informed his team that he needed food and would be back within the hour, but instructed them to call if any new leads came in. He dashed outside to find it raining, Mycroft wore a quiet smile, standing under his umbrella with Cordelia tucked snugly in her sling. Greg joined him under the cover. 

“It sounds as if it's my turn to make sure you're taken care of. There's a good Chinese restaurant a block down. Would you mind walking? Cordelia complains every time I put her in the carseat, so I try to minimize it when I can.” 

Lestrade shook his head. “Not a problem. Chinese sounds great, actually.” 

They started down the sidewalk, the rain not an unpleasant background noise. 

“You two been alright, then?” 

“We have. She sleeps in slightly longer intervals, now. Not much, but every minute counts.” 

Greg grinned. “Yeah, I remember that. It's a relief when you can finally get four straight hours.” 

The politician nodded. “How are you, besides tired and overworked?” 

“Not so bad,” he answered, “see, I've got this brilliant new friend who sometimes shows up and has lunch with me.” 

“Mm,” hummed Mycroft, “should I be jealous?” 

Lestrade elbowed him lightly. “Well, maybe a little. I might even invite him out for dinner.” 

Mycroft angled his face away, hoping his expression remained relaxed and uninterested. The little flutter he'd just felt could remain a secret between himself and no one else. He was saved from having to think up a reply when they arrived at the restaurant. 

“After you,” he opened the door and motioned for the other man to enter. 

“Thanks,” Greg said, walking into the warmth of the building. 

Neither bothered to look at the menus, as they'd both frequented this location enough to have memorized their orders. 

“I see she's letting you sit, today.” 

The elder Holmes nodded. “It seems the walk put her to sleep. Perhaps I'll get to eat with you,” he said hopefully. 

“I hope so,” the DI agreed. They sat in silence for a few beats. “Before Cordelia, what did you like to do when you weren't working?” 

“That assumes I had much time for anything else. Although I did enjoy reading. In my youth I took pleasure in the occasional visit to the orchestra.” 

Lestrade put his arms on the table, leaning forward. “I have it on good authority that you play board games,” he said conspiratorially. 

Mycroft looked around in pretend covert movements and leaned in as much as he could with a baby strapped to the front of his torso. “I heard Sherlock's older brother is going to murder him for divulging personal information.” 

Greg pulled back in a laugh. “Well, it's a good thing you're reporting this information to the police. We'll be sure to investigate this matter very thoroughly.” 

For all his faith in his ability to read people, the politician refused to believe that Gregory was flirting with him and now making suggestive remarks. Their friendship had just started and it was tentative. Mycroft still didn't know if he was doing it correctly or if he wanted something beyond that. Let alone the question of if more was even advisable, considering the responsibilities of Cordelia and his work. “No need,” the redhead's face pulled into its stoic default, “I believe he wasn't serious about it.” 

Sensing the sudden mood change, the DI realized his mistake. “Sorry, Mycroft. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

“I'm fine,” he waved it off. 

Greg shook his head. “No, I just say things sometimes. Stupid things. Let's just forget that.” 

_I don't forget anything_ , Mycroft thought. “Okay.” 

Both men felt grateful when the food arrived ten minutes later. Polite, stilted conversation abandoned in favor of orange chicken and chow mein. 

“I can't believe you just got veggies,” Greg said. “You've gotta have at least a bite of mine.” Sufficiently tempted, Mycroft reached his fork across the table and skewered a piece of meat. He reached for a second and the DI laughed. “Alright, if you're doing that,” he picked up his own utensil and stabbed a piece of broccoli. 

The politician retaliated by twirling his fork in the noodles, bringing a mouthful of chow mein across the table. Greg stole several more vegetables from Mycroft's plate and took his pot of tea, pouring it in his empty cup. 

“You win,” the redhead conceded, both men smiling at the comfortable energy that had returned between them. 

After settling the bill, Mycroft walked Gregory back to The Yard. 

“I'll see you on Tuesday,” the DI questioned, “like usual?” 

“As long as you're still willing and able.” 

“Of course.”


	7. Chapter 7

Hand behind his daughter's head as he held her close to his chest, Mycroft sat, legs dangling over the edge of the deck. There were no leads on where she'd come from, and a part of him wasn't sure he even wanted to know. After nearly 6 weeks, the thought of her not being his... he just couldn't accept that. If the parents ever came back, perhaps they'd agree to share custody, provided the circumstances under which they'd left her were innocent.

Cordelia squirmed and the politician laid her on his lap, her feet propped on his belly. “Cordelia,” he cooed, smiling at her, “look how big you're getting!” She kicked a leg and waved an arm. “Yes, you're very sweet.” 

The baby grunted and gave a wide smile. 

Mycroft froze. “You smiled,” he finally managed, and then broke out into a huge grin. The kind he hadn't felt his face do since he was a child. “Thank you for sharing your first smile with me.” 

She smiled again, kicking happily against his chest. Mycroft couldn't find it in himself to mind. 

Forgetting to question his action, his hand dug into his pocket for his phone, fingers easily scrolling and selecting 'GL' from the contact list. 

“Hi, Mycroft,” the voice at the other end answered. 

Recognition dawning at what he'd just done, he tried to salvage the situation. “I meant to tell you,” he said, as if this had been the intention of his call, “we're going to be out of town for the next two days, so we have to cancel for Tuesday.” 

“Oh, no problem. Would you like me to come over Thursday, instead?” 

“You'd do that? You don't have to.” 

“I know I don't have to, but I'd like to.” 

The redhead ran a hand through his daughter's hair. “Only if you're sure. We'll survive if you can't.” 

Greg rolled his eyes. “Don't even worry about it. I'll see you Thursday, then.” 

“Also,” Mycroft said, before the DI hung up, “she just smiled for the first time.” 

“That's wonderful, Mycroft!” he said happily. “When?” 

“A minute ago,” the politician admitted. 

Eyebrows raising in surprise, Lestrade felt extremely touched. “And you called me?” 

Mycroft sighed, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. “You're my friend,” he answered simply. 

“But I was the first person you thought to tell? That's... quite a compliment. Thank you,” he said, the genuine warmth convincing even Mycroft's cynical mind that Greg wasn't making fun of him. 

This was ridiculous. He was a grown man and didn't need to be alarmed at the idea of a close friend. Or even a potential romantic partner. He resolutely pushed that last thought to the furthest corners of his mind. “You're my _only_ friend,” he emphasized. “Yes, you're the person I thought of telling first. Is that okay with you?” 

“It's the nicest compliment I've had in a long time. I've got to run, Sergeant Donovan's heading toward my office and it doesn't look like she's bringing good news. See you Thursday.” 

“Take care of yourself, Gregory.” 

Mycroft looked down at Cordelia, who smiled. He returned it. “It seems,” he said, stuffing the phone into his pocket, “that your father has become quite sentimental. Did you do that?” 

She snorted. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Naaaaaa! Naaaaaa!” the infant wailed as her dad paced the airplane. 

“You're tired, Cordelia. Just go to sleep,” he pleaded, Anthea looking at him with a raised eyebrow. 

He looked over at her. “Would you mind finding the gripe water in the diaper bag? Sometimes it helps.” Mycroft patted the baby's back again, seeing if a burp would surface. His PA smiled and rifled through the briefcase's contents-- Mycroft had objected to the more traditional diaper bag. 

“Here you go, Sir. Would you like me to fill the dropper for you? I don't mind.” 

Her boss nodded gratefully and took the seat beside her. 

“Naaaaaaaaa! Naaaaaaaaaaaa!” 

“I know, Dearest. Shhhhh,” he said soothingly, to no avail. Anthea put the dropper in Cordelia's mouth and squeezed. Looking around, the tiny infant swallowed and halted her attack on their ears. A little of the gripe water trickled down her mouth, but the majority went down. The politician dabbed the residue with a burp cloth and stood. “Thank you,” he acknowledged his PA. 

“Anytime.” 

Soon, Cordelia drifted to sleep, allowing the tired parent to knock out the paperwork and emails that had to be dealt with. 

“You know,” Anthea said as he closed his laptop, “you're doing a really great job. You're a good father.” 

Mycroft softened, but didn't turn to face her. “Thank you.” He didn't elaborate that he hadn't been sure he would be. That he hadn't been able to keep his brother happy enough and had butchered that relationship so that it was barely functional. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Lestrade swayed to the rock music, holding Cordelia upright against his chest. Her neck muscles were getting stronger, but her head still needed support. Turning slowly, they danced across the living room, content with this small part of the world. 

“What do you think, Cordelia? Do you like the music?” 

The song switched, and he changed up the pace a little. Halfway through, a sudden wetness began spreading across his back. 

“What?” he furrowed his brows and set her on the blanket in the middle of the floor. “Ew!” he exclaimed when he'd peeled off the sticky button-up. “You spit up all down my back!” The DI grabbed a burp cloth and mopped up both his back and her chin. “Ugh,” he said again. “Oh, well. That's what babies do,” he smiled, leaning over her. “Yes, they do,” he kissed her forehead. She grinned at his smile. 

“Gregory?” came Mycroft's groggy voice. “Ah, she's still up.” 

Lestrade stood, turning to greet him, and Mycroft's eyes immediately went to the bare chest. The heat that flashed through his blue-grey eyes went straight down, making him glad for the loose-fitting robe that went to his knees. 

“Sorry,” he gave a sheepish half-smile, “she spit up all down the back of my shirt.” 

Mycroft reminded himself to breathe normally and talk at the usual pitch. “That's okay, you can use one of mine.” 

Greg stretched with a yawn, making everything much harder for the elder Holmes. 

“I'll just... go get that.” He strode quickly back down the hall. 

“Well,” Greg raised an eyebrow at the infant, “should I thank you? I think your Daddy might've been flustered.” 

The politician returned shortly with a pale-green collared shirt, probably more expensive than anything Lestrade owned. 

“Thanks,” Greg took the garment, shrugging it on and buttoning it. 

Mycroft watched the strangely seductive reverse strip-tease, the DI's quick fingers giving him thoughts he wasn't certain he wanted to deal with right now. By the time he'd found the willpower to face the other way, Greg had already finished. 

“I'll get this back to you on Tuesday,” he assured, “dry-cleaned and everything.” 

“Please, don't fret over it. Whenever you're able to return it is fine,” the politician waved away the other man's concerns. 

Lestrade stroked his fingers along a sleeve, appreciating the softness. “Well, you'd better go eat while you still can. Cordelia's smacking her lips, so I'll grab her bottle and you two can eat together.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobia and bullying among minors. I wasn't expecting to put in a darker element to this story, but it just kind of happened. It's all in the past and I intend to keep it that way, but there you have it. You can skip over Mycroft's memories if you wish to.

Cordelia had just started eating lunch when Mycroft's phone buzzed.

_Next time you shag my friend, tell him not to wear your shirt the next day. It's basically announcing it to the whole world, and I didn't want to know that, Mycroft. I'm deleting it now. --SH_

Mycroft stared at the text, blinking, then tapped out two of his own. 

_How many times have I told you that your deductions need to be based on more than one trivial detail? You're an idiot. As it happens, Cordelia spit up when he babysat last night and I wasn't about to let him leave my house shirtless. --MH_

_Were you hoping to nettle Sherlock by wearing my shirt into work, Gregory? If so, I quite approve. --MH_

Sherlock didn't respond, to Mycroft's satisfaction, and Cordelia had finished her bottle by the time the DI texted back. 

_I got called in on my way home last night. Haven't had a chance to change. Are you saying you'd like Sherlock to think we're shagging? --GL_

The redhead pulled on the sling, fitting his daughter inside and situating her until she seemed comfortable. When he'd locked the front door behind him and they'd gotten a little ways down the street, he pulled his mobile out again. 

_You should keep the shirt. --MH_

_I'll make a point to wear it when he comes round. Want one of my ties? --GL_

_Bring it Tuesday. We should have coffee together at the cafe by 221. --MH_

_8am tomorrow? --GL_

_I look forward to your company. --MH_

Mycroft wasn't sure if he'd just asked his friend on a date or if they were simply trying to mess with Sherlock. Or which he wanted it to be. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Mycroft!” an exhausted John answered the door to find the elder Holmes. “Thanks for coming by. Mary's taking a nap, but Ellie's up.” 

The politician made his way in, heading for the kitchen. “Of course I want to see her, but I brought sustenance. Pre-made sandwiches and pastries. You eat, and Cordelia will help me take care of Ellie.” 

Baby Ellie was staring at a mobile over the play yard, which captivated Cordelia immediately. 

After setting his daughter down next to the other infant, Mycroft sat right down on the floor, not wanting to be too far away in case he was needed. 

John came out, a plate full of food in his hands. “Thank you,” he took an appreciative bite before flopping on to the couch. 

“Food is hardest to find the energy to make, early on. I'm glad I can return the thoughtfulness you showed me.” 

“This is really good. I'm glad you brought this. I can't remember when we last had anything substantial. Who would have thought we'd be raising our kids together? I wonder if Sherlock'll ever have any.” 

Mycroft considered it. “It's unlikely, but if he chose to I'm sure he'd be sufficient at it.” 

It took John a few moments in his bone-tired state to register the statement. “Did you just compliment him?” 

“Tell him and I assure you, the British Government will begin to worry about your unregistered firearm.” 

The doctor rolled his eyes at the idle threat and leaned his head back on the cushion. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

It was sometime after one a.m. that the memory surfaced, Mycroft lying in the dark next to his sleeping daughter. 

_“I like you,” Mycroft declared with the confidence of a six-year-old who had rarely been denied anything. He leaned in for a kiss. After all, that's what he'd always seen happen when people liked each other this much._

_The larger boy shoved him to the wet grass of the school playground. “Gross! What's your problem?” The yell attracted some of the nearby kids. “Holmes tried to kiss me!” he laughed, the others joining in._

_“Ewww!”_

_Mycroft looked from face to face as the insults shot from every direction._

_“What are you, gay?”_

_“You're gross, Mycroft.”_

_“Why would Rick date you, anyway?”_

_Mycroft's features went cold and the hurt became distant, disconnected. Something that would end up serving him in the future, but only disturbed him now. He made it through the rest of the day, as well as past Mummy, acting as if all was normal. No one needed to know the humiliation he'd suffered; that'd only make it worse. Mummy would become absolutely furious with everyone involved as well as teachers and parents, uncaring about what was left in her wake: which would definitely be additional teasing._

_From then on, Mycroft consciously made an effort to distance himself from his peers. He didn't accept invitations, he didn't engage in trivial games, and he decided to spend his time on activities that were actually useful. He read constantly, needing to pass the time anyway and preferring not to be bored. As his classmates fell in and out of love, fought and broke apart their friendships, and generally made a mess of their lives because they couldn't control their own emotions, it became clear to Mycroft that caring was a significant disadvantage. It was worth it to be lonely to avoid such hassles, and he imparted as much unto Sherlock, who took it for granted. Not that Sherlock always listened._

Mycroft wasn't sure if whatever this thing was with Gregory would turn out well. Sure, the interest was obviously mutual, but it seemed improbable it would turn out any better than the ruins of relationships he'd seen in the majority of people he observed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I felt bad for the last few days about Mycroft's memory. I edited the end of it and removed the physical violence aspect and I feel better about it now. Sorry. I'm so changeable. It is a weakness with me, but to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.

Sleep had been fitful at best, so Mycroft was almost happy when Cordelia woke at 7:09. He got her fed, dressed for the day, and packed the diaper briefcase before meeting the black car waiting in his driveway. He nearly canceled four times, convinced this would only end in disaster.

Greg entered the cafe soon after, smiling when he saw his friend pacing the room. “Hi,” he waved, starting toward the table where Mycroft's things were splayed. 

“Hello,” the politician greeted, sitting when Lestrade had. The attempt was thwarted by the start of a cry, and Mycroft immediately stood. “Yes, yes, how dare I attempt to sit for a meal in your presence? It is a most ghastly action, I apologize.” 

“It's good to see you,” Greg said fondly, Mycroft moving side to side in place. He nodded to the two cups on the table. “Did you order for me?” 

The redhead nodded. “Two sugars, heavy on the cream.” 

“A Holmes. Right.” The DI flashed a smile before taking a sip. “Thanks.” 

“You're welcome. The food should be out soon.” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“You know, I actually brought the tie with me. Figured, why wait 'til Tuesday?” Lestrade said when he'd eaten and Mycroft had managed a few bites between paces. “I can take her while you eat,” he offered, holding out his hands. 

An intensely appreciative look crossed Mycroft's features. “Thank you,” he said meaningfully, removing Cordelia from the cozy folds of black cloth. The infant complained at first, but brightened up when she saw the DI's face, smiling widely. “She really likes you,” Mycroft said thoughtfully, before sipping at his espresso. 

Greg shrugged. “That's a lucky break, then, because I like her.” 

Mycroft took a bite of his sandwich, not allowing himself the chance to say, “I _also_ really like you.” Instead, he finished his meal in silence and nearly chugged the coffee before standing to take his daughter back. 

Greg gently placed her into the sling, and then glanced up at the other man. He stuck his hand in his pocket, pulling out the tie he'd brought. “I, uh, I know it's not as posh as what you're used to, but I hope you'll wear it.” Slowly, giving Mycroft the chance to object, he brought one hand up to the redhead's tie and tugged, undoing it. Mycroft obligingly bowed his head for it to be removed. 

Greg leaned in closer than necessary, his hot breath glancing off of the other man's neck as he looped his own tie under the collar. Every primal instinct the politician had insisted that it would be so easy to just bring up his hands and pull Gregory closer, pull their bodies flush together and delight in the physical enjoyment of one another that had been so obviously tempting them. It was overridden, not the least of his worries being that he had a baby strapped to his front and it would be physically impossible to do so, and Mycroft stayed still as the DI tucked the new tie into the vest, his deliciously rough fingers reaching up under it to pull the tie through. _And somebody, please shoot me if I ever use 'deliciously' to describe a person ever again,_ he thought, embarrassed even in the privacy of his own mind. 

Unaware of Mycroft's inner self-flagellation, Greg finished straightening the clothing. “I like it,” he grinned, eyes drifting over the redhead a few times. 

“We should share clothes more often,” Mycroft blurted, hating himself as soon as the words came out. 

“Only if it's not about Sherlock, anymore.” Greg leaned in, lips brushing gently across Mycroft's before the politician's frontal lobes suffered a total systems failure and the kiss became something entirely not chaste. 

It was only Cordelia's protests that knocked him back to reality. He forced himself away, hoping desperately that his face didn't give away the disparate trains of thought and emotion tugging at his brain. “Look,” he breathed, taking a step back from the other man, “before we start anything, if there's any chance of this working, we need to lay out our expectations.” 

“Okay,” Greg said, holding his hands up slightly, backing off. “What do you need?” 

Mycroft nodded, stroking Cordelia's hair absent-mindedly. “First off, you are aware enough of the nature of my work. That's going to be a large part of my life you are simply never going to know about. And please don't expect me to pull strings for you. I'd probably do so if you demanded it, given my affection, but I would resent it.” 

“I would never ask,” Greg assured, a little offended that Mycroft would think he would. 

“I know you wouldn't, at least you don't think you would. But people change when they're desperate. You can't think of me as a lifeline if you want a relationship.” 

Greg nodded. “Okay.” Mycroft was extremely glad that they were currently the only customers at the cafe. 

“You already know my job is dangerous, and becoming involved with me will put you at risk. More than simply working with Sherlock does, or even being Detective Inspector. It's your choice if you want me to up your security level.” 

“I know the risk, and thanks. I'd rather not have your people following me around or anything. It'd get in the way of my job.” 

“Indeed,” Mycroft agreed, though grudgingly. “Also, you're going to have to communicate explicitly to me if you're upset or bothered by something. Reading people is my job, not my pleasure, and I don't want to feel like I'm at work when we're together. I doubt you want to feel constantly scrutinized, either. What we have should be something where we can relax. Most relationships fail because people let resentments build up or they never deal with the issues, and it would be infuriating for something so ridiculous to happen to us when I've... when we could be happy.” 

“Sure, I can do that. Anything else?” 

“We resolve issues immediately. And I assume, as you have children of your own, that we both agree they take precedence over anything and everything.” 

“Of course,” he agreed, “all of those are great. Uh, here's my big one. If you're ever going to be unfaithful, just break up with me before you do it. I don't care if you're five seconds away from getting laid and have to leave me a voicemail. Just end it with me before that happens.” 

Mycroft nodded solemnly, understanding that Gregory's term was set because of what he'd been through before and not that he thought Mycroft was untrustworthy. “I would never do that to you, Gregory. But if for some inconceivable reason it ever comes to that, I will do as you asked.” 

“I think that's everything,” Greg said hopefully. When Mycroft nodded his assent, the DI leaned forward for a gentle kiss. “I'd better get to work, Mycroft,” he murmured reluctantly before kissing him again. “Thank you for breakfast and coffee.” 

“We'll talk soon,” he assured. 

Greg draped Mycroft's now-unused tie around the politician's neck and pecked him on the lips again. Mycroft felt his heart lurch, wanting more. “Have a good day, okay?” 

The DI turned to finally leave, but Mycroft caught him for another kiss. “You, as well, Gregory.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAPPY SAPPY SAPPY. Do you accept these terms and conditions? Yes, Microsoft, I do. SAPPY SAPPY.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexual content in this chapter.

The Palace of Westminister was busy when Mycroft entered the Prime Minister's office.

“The Evans files, Mr. Holmes,” he said after they'd exchanged greetings. 

“Thank you,” the redhead answered, taking the proffered documents and sitting. Eyes flicking across the pages as he picked up on what he needed, he mentally added this information to the reports he'd received from the teams in other countries. 

Cordelia whined, and Mycroft pulled a bottle from his briefcase without bothering to take his eyes off the page. He only looked down for a moment to put it in her mouth. 

The three sat in silence as the elder Holmes absorbed the information. “She's getting more beautiful,” the PM smiled when Mycroft had placed the folder back on the desk. 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said politely. “I'll be in touch about our next course of action.” He stood, turning to leave before the other government official cleared his throat. Oh, how the noise grated on Mycroft's nerves as he fought to keep a smile in place. 

“Would you mind if I hold her a moment?” 

The red-haired man sighed internally and checked to see that Cordelia was just finishing off her bottle. “I'm sure she'd like that.” He stored the bottle back in the diaper briefcase and removed the infant from her sling, going around the Prime Minister's desk to let the tiring man fawn. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

_For the love of God, just go to sleep_ , Mycroft thought as he set the infant in her cosleeper and lay on the bed beside her. Pacing hadn't helped and neither had patting her back. The gripe water just made her angry. She wasn't hungry and her diaper was clean. 

_“Build me a future,_

_splendid and graceful._

_Make it better by design._

_Perfected strategies._

_Applied technologies._

_A brighter future for a darker age.”_

Cordelia continued to cry, and the redhead rolled on his side, reaching over to put his index finger in her mouth. She sucked, quieting for a moment and crying until he started singing again. 

_“Before me a vision,_

_forged with great intentions,_

_of generations yet to come._

_Aerodynamic dreams, across the stratosphere,_

_foundations for tomorrow's way of life today.”_

The baby closed her eyes, and Mycroft thought he would gladly embarrass himself and sing in front of the entirety of Parliament to just get her to sleep when she was tired. Why did she hate sleep so much? He sang without thinking, going out of focus for several lines. 

_“Potential overdrive._

_Free thought and open minds,_

_as if beams of photons lit the night._

_Electronic alchemists,_

_in the new metropolis._

_Enlightened living through practicality.”_

Mouth going limp, Cordelia drifted off to her father's soothing voice. It was a good thing she couldn't tell anyone about this. He wouldn't seem as fearsome if people knew how soft she made him. 

_“Leave this world behind,_

_retrofitted and redesigned._

_The dawning of the age to come._

_Streamlined simplicity,_

_the renaissance of humanity._

_Avenues of light to guide us home.”_

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“She's asleep,” Mycroft said, eyes darkening as he came out of the hallway and into the living room. Greg moved toward him, sliding his arms around the elder Holmes' waist and tugging him so they pressed together. The redhead returned the gesture, encircling Lestrade with his arms. 

“You sing to her, that's sweet.” 

Mycroft looked at him with a disappointed smile and one eyebrow raised. “Bringing that up doesn't do anything to set a mood, if you were wondering.” 

Greg grinned widely. “But it is. I bet people don't realize that even the British Government sings their daughter to sleep.” 

“I do hope I won't have to start our relationship out by threatening you to keep this quiet.” 

The DI pecked him on the lips. “No worries. You sure you don't want to get some sleep yourself? I didn't come over expecting anything other than to babysit.” 

Mycroft silently prompted Gregory to the couch. “I'm sure,” he said simply as they sat beside each other, sharing a cushion. The redhead leaned in to kiss the other man. 

Greg still couldn't get over the elation that came from kissing Mycroft Holmes. Over all the years they'd known each other, Mycroft had shown appreciation and trust, but never attraction. Had it been hidden? Building? He lost his train of thought, pushing the politician down and shifting to get on top, deepening the kiss, his tongue flicking across the other man's lips. 

Mycroft's lips parted, pliant and eager, and his hands moved to roam Gregory's figure. Greg pressed his pelvis against Mycroft's, hand going to tug at the tie, getting caught up in those blue-grey eyes... 

“I need you to know,” Mycroft mumbled, stilling Greg's hand, “that I can't. I'm sorry.” 

Greg took a few steadying breaths, sitting up and forcing his mind to start working again. “You don't need to apologize, Mycroft,” the DI assured. “Everyone's comfortable with different things. I didn't mean to presume anything.” 

“I know, but I'm not just...” he wasn't used to talking about this. No matter how many times he'd rehearsed it in his head, it wasn't coming out as eloquently as he'd hoped. “Do you know how many people I've actually wanted to have sex with? Two, in my entire life, and you're one of them. 

“Of course, I thought something was wrong with me. I tried sleeping with others, but I just never really got anything out of it. And when I found someone who I truly did want to be with, once it happened we simply drifted apart.” 

“Are you worried that's going to happen to us?” asked Greg. “Because I'm not that easy to get rid of. You probably know I tried like hell to reconcile with my ex-wife. I prefer not to do casual.” 

“This is not a question of your character, Gregory. This is about what I can and can't give you.” 

“No, no, I didn't mean it that way, I just... hell. I just want you to know that either way, I intend to stick around. Unless you're actively trying to get rid of me.” 

“I don't plan to try,” Mycroft smiled. 

“Good,” Greg returned it. “Just let me know where your boundaries are. I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” 

“I think a demonstration is in order,” Mycroft's eyes narrowed mischievously, sitting up only to push Gregory down on the other side of the sofa. 

Greg thought it strange that the heat hadn't dissipated with the interruption, still grappling with the idea of who was kissing him. Mycroft undid a few buttons on the DI's shirt, moving to suck the skin where his shoulder and neck met, the redhead's hand drifting down Greg's shirt to finish exposing the DI's chest. The politician slid his hips down a little to quickly undo the other man's belt and pants. 

“I thought you said--” 

“I don't want you doing anything to me, but I can still help you out.” 

Greg nodded dumbly, losing the capacity to form words when Mycroft's hand closed around his lover's already-hard cock. Greg arched into the rhythmic motion, his lips melting against Mycroft's. 

“I'm going to make you cum,” Mycroft said, heat flashing in his eyes as he watched Gregory falling apart under him. 

Greg crushed Mycroft's lips to his, his groan muffled as he came in Mycroft's hand. 

He came down slowly, relaxing his body and enjoying the weight of the man lying over him. “'m not sure if I should be embarrassed by how much I enjoyed that.” 

“There's no need to be,” Mycroft moved to get up, but Greg locked his arms around the redhead and kept him in place. Mycroft didn't protest. 

“Just stay here for a moment.” The elder Holmes nodded. “Hm,” Greg rest the side of his face against Mycroft's neck, “you smell good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is _Streamline_ by VNV Nation. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqGPG8HE82Y


	11. Chapter 11

“You thought something was wrong with you,” Gregory said when they'd cleaned up and decided to cook dinner.

Mycroft glanced briefly at the DI before returning his gaze to the spices he was measuring out and dumping into the bowl of orzo pasta. “Wouldn't you, if everyone around you seemed to think sex was so amazing and interesting, that they routinely threw relationships away for it, or spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get it?” 

Greg started rinsing the cup of cherry tomatoes. “So what was different about... the other person? And about me?” 

The politician sighed, not wanting to discuss this. However, he knew so much about the other man and had given so little in return. It hardly seemed balanced for a relationship. “Miranda and I were friends for three years at uni before I felt any attraction. And then one day, it hit me out of nowhere. You and I,” he paused, leaning against the counter, taking the tomatoes Greg had sliced and mixing them into the pasta. “You've helped Sherlock for years. I don't think he'd have gotten clean if it weren't for the cases you let him on, and you've been his friend. You've done favors for me beyond that: watching out for him in Dartmoor, bringing me other information without question. I'd put that down to the fact you cared about Sherlock and trusted my judgement, but with what you've done for myself and for Cordelia, it's become far more personal. You wanted nothing, and I, shamefully, offered little. I found myself realizing that I trust you. Your kindness is given freely, and you're pleasant to be around. It's no wonder my brother took to you, being that you're honest. It's a welcome reprieve from what we're used to seeing everywhere we look. When that fit together with how much I liked your personality, I found myself strongly attracted.” 

“That's... er, thank you, Mycroft.” Greg scooped up the freshly-sliced olives and added them to the mixture. 

“It is what it is. I didn't intend to act on it.” He reached two plates from the cupboard, handing one to Lestrade. 

The DI looked at him questioningly, ladling the food on to his dish. “If you feel it so rarely, why not?” 

“What do I have to offer you, Gregory? My strengths do not lie in personal relationships and I work almost constantly. By associating with me, you are at great risk, even more so now that we've become closer. I'm not a pleasant man to be around.” 

“If you haven't noticed, I work all the time, too. And, personally, I find you charming,” Greg flashed a smile. 

“Well,” Mycroft conceded, “I didn't say you were clever.” 

“Hey!” Greg laughed. 

The redhead grinned, and obviously did not have any sort of urge to stick out his tongue. “Kidding.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

“Okay,” Mycroft set Cordelia on a thick blanket just outside the shower. She squirmed, attempting to roll, but not quite able to. Her father set her toy panda on her belly, and she grabbed happily at him. “I'm going to be right here, just in the shower. You know the drill.” 

He got under the streaming, warm water, closing his eyes as his muscles relaxed. His plan for taking down Evans was coming together-- his operatives had led her to London. He preferred to work from home, where he had control over nearly the entire city. Plus, he wouldn't have to travel or upset Cordelia's routine. 

He popped his head out from behind the shower curtain when the infant began to whine. Reassuring her of his presence, he smiled at her as water dripped from his face. “Hello, Dearest. I'm still here.” 

She smiled. “Bababababa,” her little babble rang out over the noise from the shower. 

“Bababababa,” Mycroft agreed, retreating behind the cover to shampoo what little hair he had. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Really? Not even singing? Why do you hate sleep? Why?” Mycroft bemoaned, pacing the hallway. Finally, he turned the corner back to the bedroom, eyes fighting to stay open after maybe two hours of sleep in the last two days. It had been so easy, before, to catch a nap in the middle of a crisis if there was nothing he could do at that very moment. But right now, his 'free time' hardly coincided with Cordelia's desire to sleep. She hated it. She fought it harder than even Sherlock. At least Sherlock had been content when he stayed up past naptimes and bedtimes. But she needed sleep, knew she did and wanted nothing but sleep, and at the same time despised it to her very core. 

Mycroft set her in the cosleeper and practically fell down beside her on the bed. This seemed to be happening more and more, and he was starting to wonder if he could even do this on his own. His security team had vetted a suitable nanny weeks ago, and the man seemed agreeable to the idea, but Mycroft had avoided giving in to the temptation. 

If he hired a nanny, it would become all too easy to put nearly the entirety of his waking hours into working. He would become distant from Cordelia, depriving her of the parent she needed. Sure, for many people, hiring childcare was a necessity, but for Mycroft, it was simply sheer exhaustion. He could deal with it. He could endure the difficult first year or two, if it meant keeping the close bond he had with his daughter. 

People wondered why Mycroft had wanted to keep her, when she could have gone elsewhere, and when Anthea asked, he had rattled off the practical reasons. The mysterious circumstances he'd brought up on the night she'd been placed at his doorstep, his PA had raised an eyebrow at. But if they were truly sinister, Anthea, do we want to involve an innocent family by giving her up to them? Can we risk civilians, who are only giving a child a loving family, being in danger of international crime rings and people like me? Can we risk putting Cordelia through more home-changes than necessary and endangering her sense of security and her development, if something were to happen to that family? Can we really, Anthea? And I have the highest security detail possible, already. It would be a waste of resources if we have to keep watch on another family, even if it's one of our operatives. 

Of course, he honestly believed those were all important reasons, but the truth, which he suspected Anthea knew but had the decency not to say, was that this was his only opportunity for any sort of family. Work had consumed his life, and Sherlock had been the closest thing to a child he'd ever had. But Sherlock was his brother. Didn't want him meddling so much, not that Mycroft would ever stop, but that wasn't the point. He wanted a child, but would never have gone out and adopted one. Wouldn't have had one of his own. Would never subject someone to his life, to his ever-present danger. He'd come to peace with that, content enough to care for his entire country. 

But then Cordelia had been placed on his doorstep. The simple act had already interwoven her into his risk, and it was likely not a coincidence. Someone had placed her there, knowing it was Mycroft's home. They'd have had to wait for the security team to lapse in some way that they could have made it through (or, more likely, over) his iron gate, up his driveway and up to the door (he'd since increased his home security). If it had been someone who didn't know who Mycroft was, they'd have walked across the street or gone next door where leaving a baby would have been much easier. 

It wasn't an understatement to say that this weighed heavily on the politician's mind, but so far there were no leads. All he could do was wait. 

Eventually, they both fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

Mycroft poured the orange, plastic cup of water over his daughter's leg, rinsing the soap off with one hand.

Cordelia babbled happily as the politician bathed her, smiling at the moment of content. Of course, Mycroft being the British Government, that moment didn't last long. His mobile rang, and he quickly dried a hand to answer it, thankful he'd invested in an earpiece so that he could keep his hands free. 

“Hello?” 

“Sir, Evans is vulnerable. If we don't take this chance now, we might not get another one.” 

Mycroft kept a smile up for the baby, not wanting to upset her with how annoyed he was with his agent. “I've already told you to wait; we don't have enough information yet. She believes she's safe in London, and we're going to let her think that until we have what we need.” 

“Babananananadada.” 

The politician finished up the bath and picked up Cordelia, getting his waistcoat and shirt wet in the process. He wrapped her in a towel, listening to his operative harp on about dangers Mycroft already knew about. “Are you finished?” he asked, placing Cordelia on the changing table and patting her dry. “My orders still stand. Do not make a move.” 

Call ended, Mycroft smiled at the squirmy baby. “Yes, Dearest. We're putting on your diaper. And here are your pajamas. Let's get your arms through.” She protested, contorting her body into difficult positions. “Got it! Okay, now your legs, and we'll snap up the onesie. It's okay, Cordelia, you're almost done,” he soothed, trying to stave off the cry that had begun. 

“There!” the redhead exclaimed, picking up the baby and holding her close against his chest. “I believe you'd like to play, now?” He laid her gently on the blanket in the middle of her room, sitting cross-legged beside her. 

Cordelia smiled, eyeing her stacker, and rolled on to her side, reaching for the toy. 

“You rolled on your side!” Mycroft praised, clapping at her achievement and making her smile wider. It seemed as if she was trying to laugh, but couldn't quite do it. She got a hold of the toy, and Mycroft, still watching her, pulled out his phone. 

“Mycroft?” came a tired-sounding voice. 

“Gregory, I'm sorry, did I wake you?” 

The DI suppressed a yawn. “No. I wish I were in bed. I'm stuck working a case. What's going on?” 

“She just rolled on her side for the first time, and I wanted you to know.” 

Greg grinned. “What a cutie.” 

“She is,” Mycroft agreed. 

“I meant you.” 

The politician rolled his eyes. “I'm in hysterics at your wit. Now, go home and get some sleep. You're not going to be any good if you're dead on your feet,” Mycroft chided. 

“Yeah, yeah. We're out of leads, anyway. Thanks for calling, Mycroft.” 

“When your case is over and you've rested up, I'm taking you on a proper date. Not anywhere near my brother's flat. Somewhere nice.” 

“Sounds great. Goodnight, and sleep well.” 

“Goodnight, Gregory.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

When Mycroft opened the door for Greg that Tuesday, Greg took one look and knew their roles had reversed. “Get to bed,” he ordered, lifting Cordelia from the redhead's arms. 

“But I had planned to spend time with you,” Mycroft complained, verging close to whining territory. 

Greg gave him a quick peck and then ignored him, walking out to the backyard with the baby, leaving the politician to stand sullenly in the middle of the living room. He guessed Mycroft had complied when he snuck a glance back through the sliding glass doors and saw him gone, and walked to Cordelia's favorite tree with a satisfied smile. “Here's your tree,” he pointed, and the wild baby twisted in his arms to get a better view. “Yeah, you're getting really good at holding your head up, aren't you?” 

The DI lifted Cordelia above his head so she could see a different angle. She made a strange noise, and he pulled her back down in concern, only to find her all smiles. Greg mentally shrugged and lifted her back up, causing the same noise to emit from her little voicebox, and he realized she was laughing. It had been a while, and he'd almost forgotten how strange those early baby laughs were. He grinned, spending the next few minutes lifting her up and down until she was all laughed out. 

“Oh, Cordelia,” he said, carrying her back inside when she'd begun to smack her lips, “your Daddy's going to have a lot of fun with this.” 

The rest of the evening was peppered with the usual baby-care, and Cordelia was awake when Mycroft appeared from the hallway, watching them for a minute or two before making his presence known. “How did your night go?” 

Greg looked up, happily. “Now, I debated on whether or not to wake you up, so I'm sorry if I made the wrong choice, but you just looked exhausted. I worried you wouldn't get enough sleep if I did. But watch this!” The DI scooped up the baby from the floor, lifting her high into the air. 

Mycroft felt a smile creep up his face at her laughter, and joined Gregory on the floor, holding his arms out for Cordelia. Greg shifted her into the politician's arms. Mycroft brought her over his own head and she laughed again. 

“You're probably right, I needed the sleep. But I do wish I'd have been there to see it.” 

“I know. I felt that way when I missed firsts with my kids. But you can't be there 24/7.” 

Mycroft nodded, setting Cordelia down after a few more repetitions. He inched up against Gregory until their knees touched, and gave a half-smile. “Thank you,” Mycroft leaned in, bringing a hand to the DI's thigh before brushing his lips against Greg's. Greg kissed him warmly, his eyes fluttering closed as he reveled in the softness. Unexpected, being that Mycroft was known for being immovable. 

“Why don't you,” Greg managed to say before he was cut off with another kiss, “eat?” 

“Good idea,” the redhead agreed, not making any move to stop or get up. Lestrade didn't protest, accepting that he could be selfish for just a little bit. “Okay,” Mycroft kissed him once more, deeply, “I'll be right back. Do you want me to make you anything?” 

“I'm good, thanks. Very good, actually.” 

The politician smirked, standing. “I take it you'll still be good when you get home. You might even think of me.” 

“I will _most definitely_ be thinking of you, Mycroft Holmes. Now go get your bloody food.” 

“Language,” Mycroft berated, walking toward the kitchen.


	13. Chapter 13

“Lie face down on the couch,” Greg commanded when he'd walked in to find Cordelia asleep and Mycroft looking weary.

“Excuse me?” the politician asked, eyebrows raised. 

Lestrade made a 'go on' gesture with his hands, with which Mycroft hesitantly complied. 

“Right,” said the DI, straddling the other man and placing his hands on Mycroft's back. “Just relax,” Greg murmured, slowly beginning to work out the knots and tension built up in the redhead's muscles. 

Mycroft felt himself stiffen as the other man pressed his pelvis against Mycroft's buttocks. “Gregory,” he made to protest, but when his back muscles loosened, he changed his mind, making a contented noise. “This is... nice.” He'd nearly fallen asleep by the time the DI finished, and reluctantly dragged himself up when Greg slid off of him with a smile. 

“You just looked like you needed that,” he shrugged with a smile. 

“Thank you, though you may be spoiling me.” 

Greg leaned down and kissed him before the politician sat up. “If you come to expect it, that's fine by me. I quite enjoy being on top of you.” 

Mycroft looked away to compose his face, when a cry from the other room had both men turning to face the hall. 

“I've got her, you get your shower and sleep.” 

The redhead smiled gratefully, and they both made their way into the master bedroom. 

Greg lifted up the wailing infant, cradling her close to his chest and upright. Soothed, Cordelia flashed a smile and smacked her lips. “Ah, you're hungry,” the DI said, looking up from her to see a shirtless Mycroft reaching out from behind the bathroom door, trying and failing to hide himself while he grabbed for his pajamas. 

“No need to stare,” the elder Holmes said with a hint of defensiveness. “Surely I'm not that much worse than you'd hoped for.” 

“Mycroft,” Greg crossed the room and gave the other man a peck on the lips, “I'm staring because I like what I see. I'll see you in a little while,” he kissed him and left to feed the hungry infant. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Sir?” said the voice on the other end of his mobile, a couple weeks later. 

“Yes?” the politician answered, strolling his neighborhood and struggling to keep Cordelia from launching herself out of the sling. 

There was one of those pauses where you know you're not going to like what you hear afterwards. “Evans was arrested, and she seemed rather pleased she was.” 

The string of curses that ran through the elder Holmes' brain stayed safely inside, not sullying the infant's tender ears. Flashbacks to Moriarty immediately surfaced, and the politician was glad for the black car that just pulled up, because he urgently needed something to hold on to. 

Mycroft grabbed the hood, steadying himself. Was this going to be another publicity stunt? Was she planning to go after Sherlock? No, more likely this was targeted at Mycroft. If Cordelia was involved... 

“Keep me updated,” he said, and ended the call. 

Getting his daughter in the car and buckling them both in seemed rather mechanical, and he woodenly gave orders to the driver. 

He had to keep it in. Needed to pull himself together before anyone noticed his silent panic. 

It was a curse, to care, and the list of failures, of those he had to look out for because their loss would harm him, seemed to grow steadily. He couldn't do it. Protect them all? He just couldn't. He was going to fuck up and lose somebody, and be saddled with guilt for the rest of his life. Why did he bother? What he needed to do was... 

Shit... 

He needed to turn it all off. At least for now. 

Mycroft unbuckled his daughter when the vehicle stopped, fitting her back into the sling. 

The building felt colder than normal, and the ginger-haired man secured an arm around his daughter, giving her extra warmth. 

“Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he found himself saying, devoid of emotion. _This is just another person in your line of work,_ he told himself, not very convincingly. But at least he could act the part. “I require access to one of your prisoners, and assumed it would be less tedious to go through you.” 

“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” Greg winked, unaware that Mycroft was doing anything besides feigning professionalism as to not alert Lestrade's coworkers of their relationship. “Let me just get these files to Sergeant Donovan, and we're off.”


	14. Chapter 14

The glaring fluorescent light gave the room a harsh illumination. It wasn't the improved kind of fluorescent, either, it was the nasty, unnaturally-tinged type that annoyed the elder Holmes, and he only hoped it bothered the woman across from him even more.

“Well, I assume the reason you're here in jail is that you wished to speak with me. Do get straight to the point, as I have a meeting to be at,” Mycroft said, looking tired. 

Lestrade stood outside the interrogation room, holding Cordelia while he watched through the one-way mirror. He had to admit, he was kind of excited to see how his partner worked. 

“Oh, Mr. Holmes, it's such a pleasure to meet you. Jim's really talked you up a great deal, you know.” 

Mycroft gave a tight, cold smile. “I'm sure.” 

Evans leaned forward across the table. “How's that beautiful daughter of yours?” 

Mycroft's blood ran cold, but he continued to play the part. “Wonderful. Growing up fast, of course.” 

“Don't they always,” she smiled sweetly. 

“Mm,” the politician hummed in agreement, then waited for the crime ring leader to make her point. 

Evans stood, stretching before she started to pace the room. “And your little Detective Inspector-- gosh, he's cute. How's that working out? I never pegged you for the relationship type, but what's a little more danger in one policeman's life, hm? I bet he doesn't mind it at all, and you just let him risk his neck. Both for your company and for your brother Sherlock.” 

“I believe,” Mycroft said, standing as well, “we may have to continue this when I have more time. I can't keep those I serve waiting. You can appreciate how important punctuality is.” 

She gave a two-syllable, fake laugh, her lips closed tight. “Yes. But watch out for that baby of yours. Once they're mobile, they tend to be very accident-prone.” 

Lestrade didn't have time to think, only reacting to Mycroft's hand reaching into his suit jacket. 

“Mycroft!” the DI yelled, causing the infant in his arms to startle and cry. “Get out of the room. Now,” his voice was dangerous. Surprised at having been given an order, the elder Holmes simply complied, exiting the interrogation chamber without a complaint. 

Greg ordered two guards to escort Evans back to her cell, then returned to the silent government official. 

“You have a gun,” he accused, clutching the baby closer, as if the very thought of being near one caused distress. 

“Of course I have a gun,” Mycroft hissed, his composure returning. “You think the man responsible for the security of the British Government wouldn't have every reasonable measure of defense? Give me my daughter.” 

Lestrade took a step back. “You almost shot a person in front of her.” 

“A person who threatened her. If that were to cause Cordelia trauma, at least she'd be alive to deal with it.” Mycroft moved forward and took her. “Besides,” he reasoned, fitting the infant back into her sling, “you could have turned around and she'd have seen nothing.” His mobile buzzed, and he hastily drew it from his pocket. 

_Oh, Mr. Holmes, dear me. Getting sentimental now that you're attached? I expected more blood on your hands by the end of the night. -JM_

“Get Miss Evans scanned. She's been implanted with a device that tracks her vitals.” 

“What?” Mycroft showed the text to him. “How do you know she's got one just from that text?” Greg asked, staring up at his partner. 

The redhead gave him a bit of a condescending look, but relented with an explanation. “Obviously I've had all of your people vetted, and my team's been monitoring them and communications. If there were any sort of new signal sent out to Moriarty, they'd have caught it. Thus, it's clearly something in Evans that tells him she's alive, something continuous that wouldn't have been bothered with because it wasn't new. What's the obvious conclusion? Her continued life, easily monitored and would set off an alert as to whether she's been terminated or not. It would have been easy enough for him to know when I arrived at The Yard, something my people wouldn't necessarily catch if an informant saw from the street. Harder for them to get in the building with us.” 

Greg nodded. “That makes sense. What will you do, now?” 

“I will assume our relationship terminated, Detective Inspector. I will not contact you again, although Anthea may, if something concerning my brother comes up.” 

Greg's mouth fell open. “What?” 

“You were clearly disturbed by my intentions. Our values, thus, do not align,” the politician recapped unceremoniously. 

The silver-haired man made an exasperated noise. “You're being a prick right now. You were being irrational earlier, and you know it. I don't blame you for wanting to protect your daughter, but if I see you do something wrong I'm gonna call you out on it. That's part of being in a relationship. You don't bin the whole thing just because of a little tiff.” Greg leaned over the infant and kissed his partner. 

“Is this what you call a little tiff?” Mycroft asked, almost daring to hope. 

“Yes. It's not like you acted with malice or did something truly horrible. You freaked out when someone threatened to murder your child. If you think I don't understand that completely, then you might want to get to know me better.” 

Greg bent down and undid the briefcase leaning against the wall when Cordelia let out a sharp yell. He pulled out the bottle and snapped the 'diaper bag' back up, handing it to her. She eagerly began to suck. 

The DI moved in for another kiss. “You clearly love your family, and that's one of the things that attracts me to you. Anyway, I'm not leaving you, so _do_ contact me again. Got that?” 

Mycroft nodded, throwing willpower out the window and drawing Gregory in for a long kiss. “I apologize for involving you in this.” A lingering kiss. “I really must go, I wasn't lying about the meeting.” A brief peck, followed by two more. 

Mycroft gave him a pained look. “Meet me for lunch tomorrow.” He wrenched himself away and hurried toward the exit.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Mycroft's job description, I am referencing this: http://wellingtongoose.tumblr.com/post/32412162614/enigma1

Frankly, Mycroft was disconcerted that he'd so easily given in to sentimentality. Was he even suited for the job anymore? Had he compromised his emotions so completely by making the choice to enter fatherhood? He'd only ever thought vaguely about quitting his work, because it seemed such an unlikely possibility, but what would that entail? He had created the position of 'consulting politician', if you will, and doing the job meant storing hundreds of state secrets in his brain. Not just for the British government, either. Surely he wouldn't be left to walk around freely with that kind of knowledge.

So, quitting wasn't an option. His resignation would be upon his death, as originally planned. And if remaining objective in the face of his daughter and partner was impossible, as it was when it came to Sherlock, he'd simply have to change how he operated. 

Exhausted, he crawled into bed, Cordelia snoozing in the cosleeper beside him. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

_Rough night? Why don't you come out and play? And bring that pretty daughter of yours. Wouldn't want anything to happen if you left her in the hands of the wrong person. 5 tonight, before her bedtime. -JM_

Mycroft stared at the address for a moment, face ashen. Cordelia reached up out of the sling for his chin, and he gave her a tight smile before reverting to a frown and striding across the room. 

Several phonecalls later, Mycroft shoved the anger and fear to the side of his mental desk, and focused on the happy, squealing baby trying to roll on her side. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

_I love you, Cordelia._ Mycroft entered the building, comforted that his daughter was safely on her way to a certain DI, who would be coaxed, if not bribed, out of the country by Anthea. Mycroft wasn't going to lose this irritating game with Evans and Moriarty, but he certainly couldn't win when the people he loved most were vulnerable. 

“You came,” a woman's voice sounded, heels clicking closer in the dark. 

“Good evening, Miss Evans.” 

A tall, curvy brunette reached the edge of the shadows. “Mrs., actually. Did you like my wife? I'd expected you'd have shot her.” 

“I had the good fortune of being stopped by my better half. Do you intend to continue pretending that Moriarty's still alive? Your little impersonations leave much to be desired.” Mycroft studied his fingernails. Tedious. That's what this was. 

Evans pursed her lips into a pout. “You didn't bring your little girl. I wanted to meet her. She's a lovely little thing in pictures.” 

The ginger-haired man looked up with the barest hint of annoyance. “As I'm sure the two of us both have guns trained on us, it would be prudent to settle this soon.” 

“On the contrary. If you think you're the only one capable of placing moles in organizations that oppose you, then you really aren't as bright as I thought.” A body dropped to the floor to Mycroft's right, and he had to fight every instinct to turn and see which of his people had been murdered because of his failure. 

_Failure failure failure--_

The word echoed in his head, and then a piece of cloth was shoved over his mouth and he passed out. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Anthea, he can't just expect me to drop everything and leave the country. And if he's in danger, that's more reason to stay!” Greg paced the living room as Cordelia drank her bottle in his arms. 

Anthea looked up from her phone for just a second to smile. “You think you're going to rush in and save Mr. Holmes if the best security in England fails? Please, Detective Inspector. You're more useful far away from us right now. Anyway, I've transferred the money into your account now, and your tickets have already been purchased. It's been cleared with your boss, so all you need to do is act reasonably. Shall I help you get your coat on?” She asked with a sweet smile. 

Greg frowned. “Fine. Just give me twenty minutes to pack and I'll meet you outside.” 

The PA gave him a quick assessing look, apparently finding what she was looking for, and left. 

Tired, Lestrade sat on the couch, groaning as his muscles relaxed. “Shhh,” he soothed, the baby whining in protest at not being walked. “Keep eating, I just need a minute,” he said gently, jiggling her a bit to keep her happy. Greg took a long pull from his glass of water and returned it to the table. “Okay,” he sighed, standing up again. 

Locking the door, Greg pulled on his overcoat, grabbed the diaper briefcase, and secured Cordelia in the sling. The DI opened his bedroom window and stepped out on to the fire escape. Apparently, Mycroft's people hadn't decided to guard it, which really was a security issue but was Greg's good fortune. He climbed down the ladder carefully, one hand around the sling and the other one navigating the rails with the briefcase handle around its wrist, and dropped lightly on to the sidewalk. 

It was bloody stupid of Mycroft to walk into something that screamed trap, no matter how many precautions he took. And even stupider to imagine Greg and Cordelia could be safe anywhere, if this Evans person really wanted to get to them. What was he thinking? That his copper boyfriend would just sit back and bite his nails, hoping for the best? 

He turned into an alley, taking as many narrow paths as he could to avoid roadways where one of Mycroft's cars could spot him. Thirty minutes later, he knocked and a door opened with a tired-looking ex-soldier staring blankly at him. 

“John, I wouldn't ask if it weren't an emergency, but can you watch Cordelia?”


	16. Chapter 16

“It turns out we do need you, Detective Inspector. Our security's been compromised.”

Greg was afraid to ask what that meant, but he did anyway. “Is he okay?” 

“No,” Anthea said from across the line, “he's gone. CCTV cameras didn't even pick him up.” 

Cursing, Lestrade turned on to the main road, and a black car pulled up beside him, following as he walked. 

He stopped, and the passenger door closest to him opened. Anthea waved him inside. “We know you're trustworthy, Detective Inspector,” she ended the call and began texting furiously. 

About to pocket his phone, Lestrade stopped as a text message proclaimed its arrival with a chime. 

_Bring a gun. -SH_

The DI was about to ask what he meant when an address appeared underneath the previous text. “Perfect,” Anthea said, not looking up from her phone. “Mr. Holmes' brother may actually be helpful, this time.” 

“How did you--” 

“You don't need to worry about that, Detective Inspector. Here,” she reached into the seat pocket in front of her and handed him a sleek, black gun. 

Wary, Greg took the pistol. Even when he thought he was defying the orders of a Holmes, he found himself falling exactly into place again just where they wanted him. But he didn't have time to be annoyed with that right now, because Mycroft's PA was practically shoving him out the door as the car slowed to a stop. 

“But I'm rubbish with a gun,” he argued, wishing he didn't have to bring the damn thing. 

“I know, but Sherlock isn't. And I'll be there to take the shot, if it comes to that. Now, come on, we're wasting time,” she started walking down the block, leaving Greg to scramble after her. 

“You're coming?” he said, confused. 

Anthea didn't spare him a glance. “Of course. I'm not leaving Mr. Holmes' safety to two amateurs. Now focus.” She put her arm out before they could round the corner and pointed down the street to the top of a closed parking garage. A guard paced outside the entrance and two snipers stood lookout from the top level. “I'm going in here,” she motioned to the shop closest to them, “and once those three are down, you infiltrate. I'll head in after you and watch your back.” 

Lestrade nodded as the woman left. Unlocking the entrance to the store and calmly deactivating the alarm on the keypad inside, Anthea disappeared into the building. So, Mycroft and his people could access anywhere they wanted. Great. He suddenly felt a lot less safe in the world. Not that he thought _Mycroft_ would abuse the power, but what about his successors? His people? They apparently had a security hole, so it's not like worrying what they'd do to ordinary, powerless citizens was a stretch. 

There wasn't much time to dwell on it before the lookouts dropped to the ground one after another. Taking the chance, Greg rushed across the street and down to the garage, taking refuge behind a pillar and in the shadows to get a good look at his surroundings. 

Two guards ran right past him, and he used the opportunity to slink further into the structure. 

_Stick to the shadows. Clear your corners._ He repeated the mantra to himself. Fuck, this was so not his division. Except, it had to be, because he had to get Mycroft out of here. 

Silently, the DI ascended the stairs, freezing when the sight on the second level greeted him. 

“Oh, dear,” Evans sat in a chair right by the landing, smiling pleasantly, “this is the second time tonight I've met strange men in abandoned buildings. I do hope it's not habit-forming.” 

Lestrade raised his pistol, only making her laugh. 

“You know,” she put a finger to her mouth in thought, “I think I'll be charitable. You can have the other one. It's Mycroft I'm interested in.” She gestured to the crumpled body of Sherlock Holmes behind her. 

Lestrade immediately rushed to the consulting detective. “Sherlock?” he checked over the younger man, searching for signs of life. Finding his pulse, he turned back around to find Evans gone. 

“Shit,” he cursed, “Sherlock! Sherlock, get up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: all I know about sneaking around is from the movie Tropa de Elite.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock groaned in discontent, much to Lestrade's relief. Good. Sherlock was alive, which meant when they got Mycroft out of there, he wouldn't be too furious with his disobedient partner. When? Yes, Greg needed to stay optimistic. It was the only thing that could get him through the next however-many-hours until the consulting politician was safe back home with Cordelia.

“We need...” Sherlock mumbled, and the DI was suddenly concerned he'd had a concussion or been doped up with some kind of drug, “to follow. Her.” 

“Right. Maybe Anthea was able to track her,” Greg said, helping the younger Holmes to his unsteady feet. 

Sherlock started for the staircase. “No need. Slipped John's phone in her pocket. Tracking her with mine.” 

Not bothering to question why the consulting detective had most likely stolen his best friend's phone, Lestrade was simply grateful. He followed Sherlock, who raced down the blocks with surprising speed for how much he wobbled. Lestrade's mind fixated solely on Mycroft, needing him to be safe. 

“Here,” Sherlock began climbing through the open window of someone's house, but Greg didn't question it. 

“Hello,” came Evans' bright voice from the front door. “Come right in this way. No need to crawl through my window like some sort of burglar. Especially you, Detective Lestrade. You're marrying up, aren't you? Show some class.” 

Throwing a glare her way, Sherlock pointedly continued his endeavor and dropped to the floor inside. Lestrade did, too, just to show her. 

_Oh, Mycroft._ Greg quickly crossed the room to crouch beside him. At least he was still breathing, if unconscious. 

“Get him out of here,” Anthea ordered, climbing into the house. 

Lestrade nodded. “You'll take care of Sherlock?” 

She smiled, “As much as anyone can.” 

“Hello, right here, thank you. Now _go_ , my brother needs to get back to being a parent and spying on government officials.” 

Greg nodded gratefully and half-dragged, half-carried Mycroft to the window, managing to get both of them outside with a little help from Anthea. The expected black car waited by the kerb, and he was glad at the realization he wouldn't have to carry Mycroft across town. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Mycroft must've paid off the doctors, because he was admitted and checked over quite fast at the hospital. Only one nurse tried to pry Lestrade from the room, but he simply said “no” and she couldn't seem to find any other staff to back up her request. He stayed. 

Apparently, the politician had been given a relatively low dose of sedatives, and should wake up anytime in the next hour, so it wasn't too hard a feat for Greg to wait. He passed the time tracing the lines on Mycroft's palm, trying to calm himself down by getting ahead of himself, imagining their lives together. It could be fantastic, really. Greg's kids would take to Mycroft, and they'd have dinners and days together. He wondered if Mycroft wanted more kids of his own, or if he'd be content with Cordelia and Greg's. Either was okay, as long as they were in it together. 

Christ, he was getting sappy. They hadn't even been together long enough to warrant those kinds of discussions. Mycroft preferred to take things slow, and that was perfectly fine. He could lead. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

John paced the hallway, cradling Ellie in his arms as Mary fed Cordelia on the couch. 

“Do you think the girls will be close?” Mary asked, smiling at the older baby. 

“I think so. That'd be great,” he smiled. 

Cordelia squealed and let out a long string of babbles, bicycling her legs. “Do you want to go look at your cousin Ellie?” 

John raised an eyebrow. “Cousin?” 

“You and Sherlock are close enough to be family, which makes Mycroft family, too. Cousin seems appropriate.” 

“As long as you're the one to tell him that. I'd rather not get shot with an umbrella.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but I just moved across the country. We found a house, and I have a few minutes to myself. Thanks for sticking with me through this!

“Mycroft,” Greg said fondly as the consulting politician opened his eyes, “how are you feeling?”

Mycroft did a quick scan of the room, checking to find that only Gregory was there. “Awful,” he confessed, “but why aren't you on a plane with Cordelia? Where is she?” He started to get up, panicking that something had happened to his daughter. 

“Lie back down,” the DI ordered, putting a staying hand on his partner's chest. “Cordelia's fine; she's over at John and Mary's. You really can't have believed I'd flee the country, especially not with you in danger.” 

The ginger-haired man stopped trying to sit, and frowned. “I thought you would respect my wishes and keep yourselves safe.” 

Lestrade pulled his hand back, resting it on his knee. “Oh, so I was just supposed to drop everything and hide? What about my family? My job? My entire life!” 

“I wouldn't have let you lose your job, and you'd have had sufficient funds. As for your family, I didn't-” 

“You didn't care about them,” Greg growled, more angry than he wanted to be at someone who'd just survived a kidnapping and been beaten and drugged. “You just wanted to protect your own. It didn't matter if my children would miss me. You could have sent any of your minions off with Cordelia, but you were selfish. You can't ask things like that of me! I thought we agreed our own children are our priorities.” 

Looking stricken, Mycroft glanced down. “Our security's compromised; of course, I didn't realize that at the time, but I didn't trust anyone else with her. Nevertheless, I was wrong to treat you that way.” 

Greg nodded. “And leaving Cordelia so you could go walk into what you probably knew was a trap? You thought you could outsmart it, I don't care. It was still irresponsible. Cordelia needs her father! Do you understand that?” 

“She's hardly old enough to realize the difference between me and anyone else,” Mycroft argued, voice uncharacteristically meek. Christ, his head was pounding and he just wanted to go back to sleep. 

“And who do you think's going to take care of her the way you do if you get offed? Huh?” The DI felt his anger rise again. How could the Holmes' be so insufferably dense about things like this? The whole “I'm-so-brilliant-I'm-not-worried-about-me-but-you-go-and-hide” attitude was getting old, and he seriously needed to spend time with their parents and find out just why their children turned out this way. Although, according to John, they were pretty ordinary. “If you think you don't matter to that little girl, then why be her father? Why accept that role? You're raising her for the next 18 years, because that's what you signed up for. You don't get to take risks like that anymore! I know some are part of the job, but you didn't have to go tonight.” 

Eyes ablaze with indignation, the politician stared directly at the other man. “You're one to talk, _Detective Inspector_. Chasing after murderers and risking your neck hanging around my brother and me-- is that fair to your family?” 

Greg didn't dignify that with an answer. He barged out the door, sparing only a glance at the younger Holmes waiting outside. 

“Well,” Sherlock strode in the room, looking down pityingly at his brother, “you've made a mess of that.” 

Mycroft really didn't need this. “Why are you here, Sherlock?” 

The consulting detective began inspecting the medical chart at the end of the bed. “You won't find anyone else like Gary.” 

“It's Greg,” Mycroft grumbled. 

“Did you expect he'd look beyond your repulsive, overbearing nature, and marry you? That he'd raise Cordelia with you? He has children of his own, Mycroft. He doesn't need yours.” 

Sherlock was being cruel for some reason Mycroft would have to deduce later. He was too tired, now, and the words were true enough that he couldn't refute anything. 

“You aren't going to dump Cordelia on John and Mary, either. They're busy enough with a newborn. When you're out of the hospital, you can retrieve her from me. I only came by to tell you that. Oh, and we didn't get Evans.” 

“What?” Mycroft tried to get up again, stopped only by the pain around his ribs. However, he didn't get an answer, as his brother swept speedily out of the room. 

Had he somehow just fucked up his entire personal life in just ten minutes? Yes. Yes, he had. And he wasn't entirely sure how he'd pulled it off, but it was certainly one for the history books. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Surprisingly to the consulting politician, Sherlock had taken excellent care of Cordelia. Although how much Mrs. Hudson had helped, the younger Holmes seemed reluctant to divulge. Still feeling and looking beat-up, Mycroft winced when taking his daughter back, but he finally felt whole for the first time since sending her off to be with Gregory. 

She babbled happily on the car ride home, not even protesting the diaper change upon arriving home. 

They lied down together on her blanket- a welcome prospect for Mycroft's continuously-aching back. 

As she rolled on her side to grab a key-ring, Mycroft made a whispered promise never to needlessly put himself in danger again. 

And before settling down next to her for the night, he pulled out his mobile to shoot off a quick text. 

_I'm sorry, Gregory. You were right. - M_


End file.
